DorianCole Oneshot
by Va'Lithra
Summary: Cole traced fingers down his stomach, shy, unsure, but it garnered no objection and so he continued, down into the tangled mess bellow his navel, unkempt since their last night in partial civilization. Had Dorian had enough sense to speak, he might have apologized.


The war had seen them travel across thedas time and time again and Dorian was growing tired of sleeping outside in all manner of horrible locations. His charming disposition was wearing thin and he knew he wasn't the best of company as of late, which is perhaps why the Inquisitor politely offered him the tent she usually occupied with Solas, which Dorian was more than happy to take for the night.

The rest of the group moved closer to the campfire leaving Dorian in relative comfort and peace, which he felt partial guilty for, but it wasn't the first time the inquisitor had offered up her luxury to those who needed some much appreciated R&R. That's why Dorian now lay on his back, his sweaty clothes tossed aside and a pile of silken pillows scattered around him like some luxurious dragons nest. He grinned into the almost darkness, barely lit by a dying candle, and feeling like for the first time in weeks things were coming up Dorian. Which is to say, something was coming up that Dorian was looking forward to finally tending to, after weeks of sharing sleeping space with everyone else.

Unfortunately Dorian had that feeling that he got whenever a certain spirit was on the roam. Probably seeking advice on his latest attempt at Joking. Dorian sighed and massaged his temples, surely the kid could see he just wanted a minute to-

Cole slid into his tent, a chilling breeze before the fabric fell, concealing them and preserving the warmth of their bodies. Dorian pulled his covers up, uncertain how Cole would react to seeing him in such a state. "What is it?" he snapped in a whisper before quickly feeling guilty for his unforgiving tone. The boy didn't respond, which wasn't particularly unusual, but very soon there was a shifting of material, the thud of a boot, and like a tiny ball had exploded from his stomach Dorian was suddenly overwhelmed by dread and horror. Cole's remaining clothes fell with barely a sound, that felt like a scream to Dorain's ears.

"Cole, what on earth are you doing?" he said sternly, sitting himself up not nearly as fast as he would have liked. A callused hand stopped him from moving further, urging him back against his silken pillows and the realization struck Dorian like a slap in the face. His mind frantically told him to say no, stop, something to cease Cole's madness, but instead his body obeyed Coles command, his mind so overwhelmed with turmoil he'd lost any control he should have had.

Cole traced fingers down his stomach, shy, unsure, but it garnered no objection and so he continued, down into the tangled mess bellow his navel, unkempt since their last night in partial civilization. Had Dorian had enough sense to speak, he might have apologized.

By the time Cole's fingers had found their mark Dorian was already hard and he hated himself for it, Cole seemed surprised, his fingers snapping away for a moment before they settled back with more confidence, wrapping around him gently but enough to cause a pleasurable shiver Dorian severely objected to.

Cole didn't linger before he shifted his weight, straddling the mage with obvious intent. Dorian's body reacted how It had been conditioned, knowing what was coming next and how it would feel, and it would feel so wonderful. Cole's thighs against his hips, radiating warmth other than his own. Dorian's body may have been ready but his mind was petrified into unresponsiveness.

For a moment, he lost himself. Feeling Cole push down with such precision it felt like he'd been there a dozen times or more, but the boy shuddered at the feeling, twitching around him, shivering at the feeling of having someone inside him, someone who ought not be there, not now, not here.

Dorian wanted to protest, to push Cole off, to tell him he didn't need to do this, but Cole recovered quickly, giving him no chance. He moved, clumsy, slow, but so wonderful it coiled in Dorian's stomach and brought a hitch to his breath. The boy found himself an easy motion and maintained it, rocking back and forth carefully, rolling his hips, shifting his weight because Dorian could tell it was hurting.

Cole trembled but Dorian couldn't move himself to touch him, to comfort him and hold him like a lover should, he couldn't bring himself to make this real, not for Cole, this wasn't what he wanted for the young boy, still so naïve in the ways of intimacy. He could almost feel the fear the spirit was no radiating, unsure of himself, of what he was doing, of what he was feeling. They were both losing themselves.

Cole panted, his body tensed and quivered. His back arched and he forced Dorian deeper, the mage bit his lip, trying to focus on anything but, the river outside, the war, the inquisitor, anything. Shock had been replaced with pure pleasure and it was just as maddening.

Cole came first, clenching tightly, spilling onto Dorian's stomach and whimpering like it was his first, and oh god how Dorian hoped it wasn't. Not like this. The spirits hands found Dorian's chest and he bucked upward, guilty for the hiss of pain it caused, but loving the feel of the boy as he gasped and rode out the end of his orgasm. It was too much for Dorian, he pushed up again and felt himself edge, the final tremor through Cole's body causing Dorian to finish with a muffled grunt, finally finding his arms would move just enough to pull Cole down, driving himself deeper.

Cole gasped and squirmed but Dorian didn't relent until the wave of euphoria had passed, leaving nothing but regret in its wake. Cole shifted, sliding himself up and off, he stood quickly and staggered but didn't take long to regain his balance, gathering his clothes and leaving as quickly and as silently as he had come.

Leaving Dorian, once again, alone in a tent made for two.


End file.
